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Johnny Sea Slasher: The Dagger of Francis Drake
Drake Sir Francis Drake: Born in 1540, Died January 27, 1596. English privateer and Vice Admiral of the Navy. Knighted by Elizabeth I. Had no known children. Estate went to his Nephew. Character Gallery Charcter Gallery for JSS: DOFD can be found here. Prolouge "Almost over..." Those two words continued to ring in Jacques' ears. Almost over. Finally, almost over... He would be a rich man. Rich enough to bring his family to England, where he would be a hero. He would no longer sulk about in the night like some infected rat, doing his Master's bidding. Almost over... "Ha!" he thought. "Papa always said I was the worst of his sons. But look at my brothers now! One's a pig farmer, the other, Dead! Ha.... Oh papa... foolish, foolish, papa...." Jacques turned around and looked over the English channel at his homeland of France. He sighed, then looked straight down, seeing the white Cliffs of Dover staring back at him like a pale reflection. Jacques smiled, then thought back to what had brought him here in the first place... Jacques stumbled unsteadily out of the carriage, trying to find his balance, or sense of direction, anything, so that he would not fall and look like a fool. Hr grabbed at the handle of the carriage, and used it to steady himself. He glanced over at the setting sun, and saw that it had nearly finished its descent; the actual golden sphere had fallen beneath the land, only its faint rays still shone. Jacques shuddered. He always hated this time, the time when the sun was gone and the land looked drowned in blood. He tore himself away from this thought to focus on another. "My Master..." he thought, "has called me out here for some reason. He doesn't call me often, which means it MUST be important." In fact, Jacques hadn't even finished his last assignment, investigating some peasant woman who claimed to have met Drake. He had only reached the woman's town when another note reached him, requesting his presence here, at the Cliffs of Dover. Jacques, intially thinking this a strange place, tucked his misgivings away, and proceded to the Cliffs. Now, Jacques looked over, and saw in the faint light, the outline of a man, which, even though he could not see properly, knew it was of his Master, Charles Preston, Jacques began walking towards him. "Ah Jacques," Charles said without turning around. "Come on over. You can still see the faint outline of France across the Channel." Jacques came parallel with his employer, and cast a quick glance over at him. Charles Preston was a rather average man, maybe a little taller than most, but fairly unimpressive until you got to his face. He had a sharp, pointed face, with eyes as dark as the oncoming night, with a black goatee, neatly trimmed into place. In fact, not a single hair was out of place, nor a single thread on his black cloak. "Jacques," Charles continued, "I have found our next lead, and I believe this one, THIS one, should be what we are looking for. One of my men..." "Begging you pardon, sir," interrupted Jacques, "But I have not finished talking to out last person, and I feel that she-" "-Is nothing. Nothing at all," finished Charles, "That was a shot in the dark. But this," Here he paused for a breath, " This is what we've been looking for! Now," Charles cast a quick glance at his subordiante, "May I continue?" Without waiting for an answer, he continued. "One of my men overheard a women speaking about how, during a recent visit to the Caribbean, she had met a gypsy who claimed to have a map leading to Francis Drake's treasure." Here Jacques, who had been listening to Charles' only as a necessity, suddenly perked up, listening intently to every word. He ran through it once, twice, three times in his head. "This will be real, Jacques, I can feel it. Everyone else we spoke to only talked about Drake. Outright mention about the treasure is probably-" Charles stopped and shook his head, "No, MUST be real! You remember the last mention of treasure, don't you?" Jacques nodded. He didn't remember, he felt it. They had been so close, but failed so terribly. It had been an old man who had it, planning to go after it himself, Charles got wind of it, and sent Jacques after it. He had gone alone, told no one, and broke into the old man's home. But Jacques had underestimated him. Before Jacques had even time to react, the old man had retreated to another room and barred the door. It took Jacques only fifteen second to get in the room, but that was too long. The old man had burned many of his papers, and poisoned himself. Jacques only found two pieces of paper in the room. One was a letter to a friend, telling him that if he were not at the docks at the appointed time, then he must be dead and cancel the voyage. The second only had one line: "If I can't have the treasure, no one can." Jacques, realising that while he was remembering, his master had been talking. "I-I'm sorry sir," Jacques stuttered. "Could you repeat that?" Charles heaved a small sigh, and repeated his orders: Head to the Caribbean, find the gypsy, get the map. Charles would be arriving in two weeks time afterwards, at which time he expected the map to be in Jacques' hands. "And Jacques? Don't be afraid to kill anyone. Just remember: It's almost over" Without waiting for any form of reply, Charles strode off, got in a carriage which Jacques had failed to notice before, and left. Meanwhile, the only sounds were Jacques heard was the beating of the surf, and his Master's parting words. "It's almost over. Almost over." Almost over... Chapter 1: Ratskellar Johnny walked into the dimly lit tavern and surveyed the tables. Most were empty; two had a couple of men drinking, and one had a group playing poker. Barrels were stacked behind the bar, leaving little room for the bartender to move around, and in a far corner, something resembling dirty clothes are piled on a table. Johnny gave a sigh. “Well,” he thought, “This was the last place I had to check. And he’s not here…” Wondering what to do next, Johnny had almost gone back out the door when he heard a voice growl from a far corner of a tavern, “You wouldn’t happen to know a fellow by the name of Bloodsilver, would ya?” Johnny turned on a dubloon and looked far across the tavern to see who was talking. Even in the dim light, Johnny could still see the man was missing his left eye, he wore a patch, and, across his pale face, it looked as if someone had chiseled away part of his head. Wondering who he could be talking to, Johnny heard someone respond, “Depends, what ya need him for?” Suddenly, Johnny realized what he had originally taken only as a pile of cloth, was actually a man, slumped over on his table. “No…” Johnny thought, “It couldn’t be…” Regardless, Johnny sprinted in the two men’s direction. The man with the eye patch turned see who would be running up. “Ey, what ye need?” Eye-patch asked. “Ughm..” Johnny coughed, “I’m afraid sir, that man owes me some money…” “Oh really?” exclaimed Eye-patch, “Funny, he owes me some money too!” Eye-patch swung around to face his victim, only to run into Jim’s fist. “Well,” said Jim, cracking his knuckles, “That was refreshing.” Johnny heard a low groan, and turned to see Eye-patch already recovering from his meeting with Jim. Eye-patch felt his jaw, and when, determining nothing was broken, uttered a roar of “GET HIM!” As one, the patrons of the tavern stood up, and slowly advanced toward Jim, who, in turn backed into a corner. “Johnny!” Jim urged in a hoarse whisper, “Little help for your buddy?” Johnny chuckled, and walked up to one of the larger guys, and politely tapped him on the shoulder. As the goon turned around, he was greeted by Johnny’s left hook, and told good-bye by his right. Johnny noticed from the corner of his eye Jim taking on another two of Eye-patch’s men, but Johnny had his own troubles. A pair of goons were heading right for him, side by side. The one on the right, a short Sicilian fellow, regarded Johnny with a snicker and growled, “Well, well, well. Looks like this fellow’s bitten off more than he can chew, wouldn’t you say, Manfred?” His partner, who Johnny assumed to be Manfred, was taller than his Sicilian comrade, and much more lean. “Tsk tsk tsk. Giovanni,” Manfred said in regard to his Sicilian friend, “We should not treat him like a commoner.” Here Manfred punched his fist into his open palm. “We should treat him like the dirty thief he is!” Johnny regarded the two quietly for a second, then cracked his neck, and got into a fighting stance. “Bring it on, ya yellow-bellies!” Johnny leaned over the well outside, holding a wet cloth on his head. Meanwhile, Jim had finished loading the unconscious Eye-patch and his goons onto a cart. Turning around, he went to go talk with Johnny. “Ha!” he exclaimed. “You need to learn to dodge better, pal.” Johnny glanced over at his friend and regarded him with a glare. “Maybe if you learned to punch like a man, your opponents would get knocked out, and I wouldn’t have to do your work for you!” Jim gave a soft laugh, and saw that the cart-driver was about ready to leave, and ambled back over to him. When he got close, Jim pulled out a sack of gold and tossed it to the driver. “Take this,” he ordered, “Head toward the dock. The first ship you see, use half of that to bribe the captain to take these fellas with him. Keep the rest for yourself.” Jim walked off without waiting for a reply. The driver’s face, at first showing bewilderment, soon changed to show a smile with many missing teeth. He got his team moving with a mighty “YAH!” and was gone. Johnny looked up from the well to see Jim heading back inside. “Hey!” he yelled. “Where do you think you’re going?!” “You came looking for me,” Jim answered cooly. “If you’re looking for me, it must be important. Important things are best discussed inside, over rum.” Before Johnny had a chance to argue Jim’s line of logic, he was already inside. Johnny sighed, dropped his cloth, and headed back into the tavern. When Johnny re-entered the tavern, the Bartender had already gathered enough courage to peer over the bar, and upon seeing Jim and Johnny re-enter, retreated to the back room in fright. Jim sidled up to the bar and yelled for two rums. Upon hearing the request, the Bartender ran back out with too tankards sloshing with rum, dropped them at the bar, and retreated once more. Jim grabbed his rum and smelled it. Satisfied that it was of good quality, he took a huge swig, and set it back down. Johnny didn’t touch his. He had better things to do than drink. “So…” Jim said with a belch, “What ya need?” “I’m going after a treasure. And I need help. Hang on,” Here, Johnny pulled a folded piece of paper and put it on the table. “Oh, great…” mumbled Jim, a treasure map. Johnny shot a quick glare at Jim, then unfolded the map. Jim busied himself with his rum. “This map,” Johnny began, “Shows the location of the treasure horde of…” “Some little nobody pirate whose base probably has nothing in it!” Jim sighed, “Johnny where do you-“ “Let me finish,” snapped Johnny. Jim shut up. Johnny heaved a sigh. “Of Francis Drake.” Johnny and Jim sat in silence for almost a minute before Jim said anything. “Improbable” was all he said. “And why is that?” asked Johnny. “First off, Drake was a privateer. They have to give half of what they get to the Crown. Second, since he WAS a privateer, his goods were not illegal, and thus he had no reason to hide them. And finally, if he DID hide them, he would probably choose somewhere other than a group of islands owned by the guys he was stealing from.” Johnny stared at Jim and said, “You are absolutely right… if everything you say is true.” Of course it’s true!” Jim retorted. “It’s not,” argued Johnny. “Ok Johnny,” Jim relented. “What do you know that I don’t?” “It’s simple really…”Johnny began. “Drake was a privateer, but in the latter half of his career, none of what he got went to the Crown.” “And why?” “Please, let me finish, Jim. He made a deal with Ol’ Queen Elizabeth I made a deal with Drake. See, Drake’s very name cut to the heart of the Spanish Armada, so, The Queen said as long as he kept attacking ships, he could keep it all; the Spaniards fear would be more than enough for payment.” “Right…” “Which brings me to your second point; Drake’s goods WERE illegal… to the Spanish. Carrying the goods around made him a big target, as if the bounty on his head weren’t enough.” “Mm,hmm…” “Then, by spreading the rumor, that Drake was hiding his goods, it took pressure off of him, as people would search for the stolen loot. And then, your last point is actually the brilliant part. He hid it right under their noses, and then spread the rumor it was hidden somewhere near Florida.” Johnny studied his friend’s guise. “So, you in or what?” Jim crossed his arms and thought, then… “I’m in. I’ll get my ship and…” “No, no, no, no. We need to travel discreetly. Something you and I can sail alone. Something small. Until we find the place, got it?” “Fine,” Jim said. “By the way, Johnny, where did you get that map?” Johnny shifted uncomfortably then muttered something. Jim grinned, “I can’t hear ya.” “Gypsy…” Johnny grumbled. Jim heaved a sigh. “I knew it. All right. I got nothing to lose.” Jim pulled a handful of coins from his pocket and threw them on the bar, grabbed his rum and headed for the door. “Oh, you never mentioned how we split it.” “50/50” Johnny had no hesitation in his answer. He knew it was the lowest Jim would accept. Jim nodded. “If what you say is true, then that should still be a lot.” “It will be,” Johnny confirmed. “Right… I’ll get the ship tomorrow. See ya round, John eh…” His pronunciation of his name and the stagger of his steps told Johnny that Jim was drunk. But he knew he’d be fine by morning. He always was. Chapter 2: Fire Starter Jacques walked wobbly down the gangplank onto the volcanic sand. He focused all his attention on the sand, hoping to get his mind off the churning waves, and the stench of the ship. He had needed a ship that could move fast and leave soon. The only ship that fit his needs was a small smuggling ship, recommended by a rat face man. Jacques vowed that if he ever met Rat-Face again, he was to introduce him to some of his quick-to-the-point friends. Planning his torturer's demise took Jacques' mind off his sick stomach, and he soon felt fit again. Only then did Jacques take in anything on the island beyond the color of the sand; the entire island was sandy, like a giant beach, not of the black type, but of pure white, the houses and buildings were built along the side of the mammoth volcano, a sight that struck awe of nature into Jacques' heart, and the smell, it smelled like burning firewood and cooked fish. Jacques would've sworn he could have back home, with his mama and--. Jacques cut himself off, he had plenty of time to remember the old times later. Right now, he had a job to do. "Once I am a rich man," he thought, "I can sit back and do nothing but day dream for the rest of my life." Jacques felt a smile slowly creeping on his face, and forced it away. Smiles were for friends. The people he were to meet today were not his friends. And who was he to meet? Jacques still did not know. He had found the gypsy on Port Royal, selling her wares without a care in the world. Jacques had pretended to be interested in some of her maps; he immediatly could tell most were fake, they looked to have been made by a child, then crumpled up and left in waste paper basket. One map, however, had caught his eye. It had appeared to be legitimate, and the signature of Kidd brought up a small memory in Jacques' mind. But he didn't care. There was only one map for him to focus on right now, and it wasn't here. After a few minutes of looking, Jacques asked her about any maps signed by anyone named Drake. She claimed she could not remember but said that "Maybe sometin' a lil' shiny mi'te help me 'member?" She gave Jacques a grotesque smile: she was missing most of her teeth. Jacques, never one to turn down a lady, no matter what type, graciously answered her request with a knife to her throat. The knife reflected dully in her eyes. She gulped, and said something about a man, possibly a sailor of some sort, had seen the map, bought it at twice her normal price and left. "And where did he go?" Jacques inquired. "Dunno. He went through dat ally and din't see him again. Jacques pressed his knife a little harder. "Ok! Ok! I know where he went!" she confessed. Then she called "JEB" in her loud, almost husky voice. A small child scurried out, and seemed to be unfazed by the presence of the knife. Jacques supposed this wasn't the first time something like this had happened. "Tell the... nice... man what happened the other day. With uh... ya know... 'im." The child, Jacques guessed he was Jeb, began reciting his tale. His ma, for that was who Jacques' gypsy was, had told him to follow the man; while he hadn;t been wearing very fancy clothes, they had heard coins jingling; there was a small pouch tied to his belt. "Ma" had told Jeb to steal it, like she always did with her rich clients, and Jeb took to his task at once. Jacques stopped the child for a moment. "Was he armed or have any sort of weapons?" Jeb thought, then snapped his fingers and started, "Yeah. He had a funny looking sabre-like sword, and he also had a pistol round his waist. But, that didn't worry me, I've robbed Marines and they never caught me. I'm too quick." Jacques asked what happened next. "Well, I kept following 'im, see, but I couldn't get close; he kept turning and weaving, almost like he knew I was there. Well, anyways, I followed him down to the docks and when I got there, he was getting on this ship, see, and he turned back and, I swear he did, he looked right at me and then-" Jeb stopped. "Then what?" Jacques wanted to hear the rest of it. "Nothing." Jeb mumbled. "That's all." Jacques loosened his grip on the woman, not enough that she could break free, but enough to know that Jacques was pleased. "One last question," Jacques finished, "Did you see where the ship went." Jeb stopped, and started stroking his chin as if he had a beard, then snapped his fingers and pointed, "Yeah, if headed off that-a-way. Towards Padres." Jacques released his captive and began to walk off, but stopped and turned to look back at Jeb. "If I see you following me," Jacques glared at the tiny gypsy boy, "I will kill you." Jeb, although his body betrayed no change, knew Jacques meant it. "Yessir!" he yelled. Jacques nodded and walked away. Jacques didn't need to look behind him to know Jeb had followed him. He knew that by instinct. Jacques noticed a small alleyway up ahead and ducked into it, and watched as Jeb wandered right past. Jacques reached out, grabbed Jeb, and rug him into the dark. Jacques had one hand around the child's neck, and another on the hilt of his dagger. "I told you I'd kill you if you followed, so why did you do it?!" he barked. Jeb began to tremble, and the last thing Jacques expected to happen happened. Jeb cried uncontrollably. "I'm sorry." Jeb gasped out between sobs. "Ma, she... Ma!" Jeb began crying uncontrollably again. Jacques put the boy down. "Calm down, l'enfant." Jacques stiffened. It had been so long since he had used any word from his home language.. JAcques hook his head. Jeb had calmed down and was reciting his story. "I..." Jeb still gasped for breath, "Mama always tells me to.. to pickpcket strangers. If... If I don't she beats me. And... and... and... I don't wanna, but I do..." Jeb was becoming unintelligable again. "Shh...." Jacques consoled. "Now, finish telling me, I won't hurt you." Jeb sniffed. "You... you... promise?" Jacques nodded. Jeb continued "This time she said to me 'Steal dat man's coins! I heard them, you go git 'em!' and I said 'Ma, he'll kill me!'. Then she..." Jeb sniffed again to keep from crying "She said, 'If you don't, then I'll cut off you uder pinky finger. I swear, I will do it' and she means it mister. Look!" Jeb thrust his hand into Jacques face. Jacques barely held in a gasp. The child was missing his left pinky finger. "The last time..." Jeb seemd to be under some sort of pain, but he persisted, "She cut off my finger, then... she cooked it, and shoved it down my throat and said, 'You din't get money for food, so here's ya dinner. Eat it! Or Ah cut off anuder finger!'" Jeb's voice lost all control. "Please mister, I dont wanna... just, gimme ya wallet please!" Jacques sat on a crate, and thought for a brief second, then looked up at Jeb. "Do you like your mother?" Jeb shook his head. "Then why do you stay with her." Jeb gave a small sob then said, 'I got no choice. I tried to run away once, and she got the local Marines after me. They brought me back to her, and once they left, she beat me so bad I couldn't sit for weeks. She said if I ever did it again, she would kill me." Jeb bit his lip. "Please, mister, help me. Please...." Jacques stood up and grabbed the child's tiny hand. "Come with me." Sister Dahlia had been at the St. Mary's Church on Port Royal for more then 20 years, and plenty of children had come and gone, but as she watched the big man carry the small boy into the Church, and listened with horror to their tale, she nearly fainted; her fellow sisters had to rush to get her a chair. "I had no idea such people could exist. This woman make's the Devil look like a Saint." Dahlia gathered the small child in her arms, and held him tight. The boy, whose name was Jeb, looked back at the man, and asked "What happens now?" The man reached down and patted Jeb's head. "You stay here, the Sisters will take good care of you." Jeb began to open his mouth in protest, but the man cut him off, "Do not worry about your mother. I shall take care of her." The man had almost walked out the door before the Sister could ask his name. He turned, smiled and replied simply "Jacques." And like a breath of wind, he was gone. Dahila slumped in her chair. Jacques. "I shall never forget his name..." she mumbled. "Never." Sergeant Daniels had not gotten many calls this month, it had been a slow one, so he was almost pleased to get reports of a lunatic in the streets. But when he got there, he did not see the shabbily dressed lunatic he had expected, but a well dressed man, who, if he was not of a noble blood, was at least a very high servant to one. However, upon an investigation of the local dock cranes, the Sergeant saw the reason for the call. Up high, a woman had been tied by her hands and was flailing like a fish out of water. Daniels was to stunned to notice the nobleman was speaking to you. "Ah good!" he exclaimed. "The King's men are here. Witnesses to this trial." He turned and looked up, "What is your name, woman?" She spat down, and narrowly missed the nobleman's fase. "Bug off!" The nobleman pulled out a pistol and shot at the woman, missing her by an inch, if not less. "Your name." "Maria Firstar." she howled. "Maria Firstar," the nobleman began, "You stand accued before this court on accounts of beating your only son to near death, to force-feeding him his own flesh, and to corrupting the youth until it drove him near mad, out of fear of you. Not even the Devil could love won such as you." It would only be later that Daniels would replay the attrocities in his mind, and realise with horror what she had been accused of. If he had been listening, he would have had the noble shot on sight, and throw cares to the wind over who he was. But Daniel's wasn't listening. The name had intrigued him, and he called one of his men over. "Harry," he began, "Run up to the fort and see if you can find any posters that match that woman's name. NOW!" Harry was running before Daniels had barked the last order. Maria said something to those below, but it was not audible to the audience beneath her feet. "What?" yelled the nobleman. "I said,"You can all rot in Hell! I never did nothing of the sort! Your a filthy liar, you are! I hope your flesh rots off your bones, you pitiful excuse for a man!" The nobleman remained unphased, and continued "It is terrible to lie in court, Ms.-" "WHAT COURT?!" she howled. "I see no judge, what court do you blather on about." The noble pointed his finger toward the sky and said "God is the great judge, Ms. With him, life is always a trial, and you are one of the most sick and twisted woman I have ever-" Daniels was distracted by Harry, who had returned, huffing near exhaustion. Breathless, he handed the paper to the Sergeant, and passed out. Daniels held the paper to the light, and examined it. Nodding, he walked over to the noble, who had finished his speech with, "May God help you!" Daniels gave a polite cough and asked, "Are you responsible for this." The noble said he was. "Excellent. Seems here you just captured a wanted criminal, Maria Firstar, also known as Maria Fire Starter. She got quite a bounty on her head and she's wanted for no less than 17 arsons. Take a look." Daniels handed the paper to the noble and continued, "So, who shall we deliver the bounty to? What's your name?" Without looking up, the noble said, "The Sisters of St Mary's Church. That's who you will deliver the bounty to." The noble looked up, and glared directly at Daniels. "Bring her down, execute her, good day to you sir." As he walked off, the noble added one final parting, "That woman is worse than the rest of the scum on the earth. Good day." Daniels watched the odd fellow leave, then turned to look back at the flailing woman. Boy what a story this would make... Jacques weighed the pouch in his hand. Believing it satisfactory, he entered the church, and left it at the donations plate. "Hold it mister," a small voice said behind him. Jacques turned and saw Jeb runnning towards him with an expression of sadness on his face. "You're not leaving are you?" Jacques nodded that he was. "Well, before you go, let me show you something." Jeb reached into a pocket, and pulled out a long sash. "This is what happened after he looked at me," Jeb explained. "He got some coins, tied them in here, and tossed them on the docks. Then he yelled, 'My name's Johnny Sea Slasher. What's yours?' and I replied, 'Jeb, sir!' Then he said, 'Well Jeb, best of luck to ye, and a word of advice. Don't try to pick pocket a pirate. Not all of them are as nice as me!'" The events after that happened without drama. Jacques said good-bye to Jeb, left the Church, and searched for near an hour for a ship. Upon having no luck, he approached by Rat face, who made his offer, and after the voyage, Jacques was here, on Padres del Fuego. Jacques sighed and pulled out Jeb's parting gift; a paper with a drawing of Sea Slasher on it. Jeb had tried to give him the sash, but Jacques declined. "Keep it." he said. "Its worth a lot of memories." Jacques looked up. It was getting on in the day, about 5:00 o'clock Jacques guessed. He wanted to be done by evening, so he could plan his hunt for Sea Slasher in the morning. Jacques took a deep breath of the air. He had heard of two fire starters on Port Royal, one Maria, who had finally been brought to justice, was a literal fire starter. An arsonist, as well as an inhuman woman, who not even the Devil could love. But the other had started a fire that wasn't as hot, but could be just as deadly. Johnny Sea Slasher had started the fire of his own demise; he had begun a trail right to him, and it would only be a matter of time before Jacques followed it to it's conclusion. Jacques chuckled, and began his search. Chapter 3: An Ocean View Johnny looked down at the ship, bobbing like a cork on the ocean's waves. "If it can be called a ship," he thought. The ship was very small, smaller than most light sloops, and Johnny said that he didn't believe there would be enough room for provisions and the like. "Nonsense!" Jim exclaimed. "Johnny, you've spent too long around ships with cannon. Most of their space is used for ammunition and... well... cannons! A ship this size can easily hold everything we need, especially if we will be sticking around the Caribbean." Jim had renamed the ship Ocean View and they had left immediatly. Now Johnny was up in the crow's mast, looking out for the island they needed to begin from. As close as he could tell, the island on the map was Tortuga, and that was where the path drawn began. Johnny leaned against the mast, and watched the sun set to the west. Johnny sighed. He loved this time of day, when the sun cast a glow over the entire land, making it appear as if it was seen through a rose colored lens, as if.. "Any sign yet?" Jim yelled up. Johnny's thoughts popped. He mulled over the question and realised that there was no real purpose. Most sailers knew these waters like they knew the back of their hand. Some knew it better. Johnny realised Jim was getting bored. "Nope." Johnny yelled back. "Uh huh," said Jim. "So, Johnny, when we reach Tortuga, where do we head from there?" Johnny retrieved the map from his pocket and studied it. There was an ornate compass rose in the bottom right hand, and Johnny assumed the arrow pointing up was north. "Looks like we head East-Northeast from the harbor." Jim gave a low whistle. "Not a good place Johnny. There have been a lot of skeleton ships in that area recently. I'd feel much better if we did this in the morning, and got a fresh start." Johnny chuckled. "Never knew you to be afraid," Johnny looked over the edge of the nest with a grin. Jim was staring back at him, minus the grin. "I never had to navigate Jolly Roger's waters at night with no cannons before. Be careful, I'm not ready to die yet. Besides..." he added "There are a number of shoals in that area. Trying to navigate them at night might be just as dangerous as the undead." Johnny sighed and sank back into the nest. Jim's points were valid, but Johnny felt at ease. Something was wrong, very wrong. He had felt it for a while now, as though someone was following them. Johnny peered over the nest. No one around and the only island in sight was Tortuga. He sat and through his misgivings to the wind. He had more important things to worry about. Then, Johnny, with a shock, stood up, realised he had neglected his one duty, and shouted "LAND HO!" "Thanks for pointing out the island a little before I ran into it," Jim said with a smirk. But Johnny gave no attention to Jim's gibes. That worrying feeling had returned to him. CHAPTER 3: IN PROGRESS Category:Fan Stories Category:POTCO